


Counting Birds

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, Anxiety, Bitty is 19, Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, Jack is 21, M/M, Mention of Accidental Overdose, zimbits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22760863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: Jack and his parents spent every summer cottaging on Pelee Island in Lake Erie. The summer before college is the most memorable.Eric's family is cursed. Who would ever be able to break it?
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	Counting Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Pelee Island is a real place. It's about in the middle of Lake Erie and is home to two bird sanctuaries and is on the migration route. The places mentioned in this story are for the most part real. The characters outside of Check Please are not and are not based on anyone in particular but just a general islander type folk. It's a very quiet island and the year round inhabitants number just over 100 people. About half of the summer residents are American and they usually come over on the ferry from Sandusky, Ohio. There isn't a lot to do on Pelee and that is a big part of it's charm. 
> 
> All blessing upon Ngozi and her universe.

Jack drove the truck down the laneway and pulled up beside the small cottage, put it in park and turned off the ignition.

Maman smiled. “Finally here,” she said and opened her door to climb out.

Jack followed, pocketing the keys.

“Gus said he’d leave the door unlocked and that the windows would be open to air it out unless it rained and since we couldn’t ask for a finer day, I’m guessing they’ll be wide open. Anita was going to give it a good cleaning, although goodness knows, they take exemplary care when we’re not here.”

She swung the tailgate down and grabbed the box labelled ‘Bedding.’ Jack took the giant picnic cooler and followed his mother up the steps to the side door on the screened-in porch and then through the front door into the cottage. He carried it into the kitchen, puffing a little, and after he plunked it down on the table, wiped his brow. A late afternoon breeze blew in through the windows and the sliding door off of the kitchen, carrying the scent of the grass behind the cottage. Inside, the counters gleamed, and the old appliances sparkled. Any sign of bugs or rodents had been swept away.

Working quickly, they unpacked the rest of the truck. The last box Jack brought in contained the books he would read through the next two months and an assortment of DVDs. Maman carried in the bag of knitting she swore she definitely planned to finish.

As he placed the box on the coffee table, Maman asked, “Do you mind putting

the food in the fridge, while I make up the beds?” She reached down into the

Rubbermaid container and filled her arms with sheets.

Milk, juice, eggs, and cheese were put away into the fridge and the packages of meat and boxes of chicken tenders into the freezer. Jack placed the emptied cooler in the little room off of the kitchen, next to the washer and dryer. The box, containing bread and cereal, cookies, fruit, and vegetables he emptied next. Coffee and tea went into the cupboard above the kettle, and he put the Kleenex and toilet paper into the closet beside the bathroom. He always loved putting away the supplies, had ever since they bought the cottage the year he’d turned five. It made it feel like they were hunkering down for the season, cut off from the bustle of the mainland. There were some staples on the island, and the neighbours on either side always dropped off fresh vegetables from their gardens, but to start with a full pantry made Jack feel secure. The reality that the boats couldn’t run or Papa’s plane had to be grounded because of summer storms was a possibility. Besides, once they made it to the island, neither Maman nor Jack wished to leave to restock. A three hour round trip by boat and time spent on the mainland cut into their vacation. When Papa came next week in his little plane,

he would bring a few more things and anything they forgot.

His mother sang as she made up the beds. Contentment settled inside his chest. Maman only sang when happy. He breathed deeply, in and out, rolled his shoulders, and tried not to dwell on the heavy weight and hurt of the past few years.

Putting away the last of the groceries, he grabbed his suitcase and took it to the back bedroom. Smaller than his parents, much smaller than his room at home, he loved this one more. It held mostly good memories and felt safe. The large window above his bed showed a grassy and flower-strewn field. Bird song, clear and bright, and the incessant screech of a multitude of insect life drifted in.

Leaving his suitcase unopened on his bed, he went to the front door and out onto the screened-in porch.

Jack sighed, tension and anxiety melting away as he stared out the windows, not seeing the trees and the lake. Here was the place, the one place, they could just be the Zimmermanns. Not Alicia Montgomery, movie star. Not Bad Bob, hockey star and Canadian Legend. Not Jack, their fucked-up son. Just island folk. Long time summer residents, active in the community, supportive of protecting the wildlife. The locals didn’t care as long as they were friendly and treated the island with the respect it deserved. In return, they held their privacy in regard. No paps, no nosy neighbours. The locals discouraged the intrusive and curious who might discover their vacation hideaway.

Pelee Island was a sanctuary for rare birds, turtles, and snakes. In return for how much work and the fundraisers the Zimmermanns organized, they were paid back in privacy.

“Food put away?” Maman asked, entering the living room and pushing back her hair. She smiled at Jack, her eyes relaxed and calm, holiday mode.

Jack nodded.

“How about we walk down to Coneheads and get some ice cream? A treat

before we unpack the rest and settle in.”

Jack shrugged and then nodded. The long drive to Leamington from Montreal and the hour and a half boat ride left him restless, and he wouldn’t mind a walk.

The sky had begun to get that early evening sleepy look, the blue deepening before the other colours edged in with fading daylight. The sun set late this part of June, and hundreds of birds flying back and forth through the air were making the best of the last few hours. They walked down the road, back the way they’d driven an hour before, chatting about plans for the morning, listening to the water splash against the rock embankment, placed there to help slow the constant erosion. The asphalt radiated baking heat, and the air felt heavy with humidity. Swarms of midges flew around their faces, returning no matter how much hands brushed at them.

The ice cream shack near the dock was often one of the first places people stopped at off of the boat. Fortunately for Jack and his mother, there were only a few customers there with the same idea. Standing in line behind a family of four, Jack saw a familiar face looked out from the order window.

“Whoo-hoo!” A disheveled young man in cutoffs and a ratty tee-shirt barged out the door. “Oh my honest to fucking god! How ‘n the hell are you? I didn’t know you were coming! Duuuude!”

The mother of the small family shot him a dirty look. The young man neither noticed nor cared as he jumped towards Jack, who barely had time to hold out his arms to catch him.

“Jacky! Jack m’boy! Jacky-Jack-Jack! How the fuck are you?” And he kissed Jack on the lips.

“Hey, Shitty,” he said, laughing, and set him down.

Shitty turned, and Maman had her arms open for a hug. She laughed as well and kissed his cheek.

“Mrs. Zed! I am so happy to see you! Where’s Mr. Zed?” Before she could answer, he swung back to Jack, grabbing his arms and jumping up and down with excitement, “Jack! I’m finished work at eight. You want to head over to the Westview and grab some chow?”

“Uh,” Jack said. “Um, I, uh, I’m pretty tired. We were up really early and

drove about nine hours to catch the afternoon boat.” He didn’t want to remind him why going to a bar was not in his best interest.

Shitty’s face fell.

To make amends and because honestly, Shitty was one of his favourite people, Jack said, “Do you want to come by after work tomorrow? We could sit out on the porch and catch up.”

“That would be fucking A, dude. Now! What flavour of delectable ice cream can I tempt you with?”

He ran back into the shack and met them at the window. Maman smiled politely at the family and gestured for them to go first. When it came to their turn, Maman ordered Moose Tracks in a cup and Jack, his usual chocolate in a plain cone. After paying and waving goodbye with promises of meeting the next day, they stepped away to make room for the next group and headed back up the road.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Jack licked his ice cream thoughtfully and then shrugged. He didn’t meet her eyes, but he tried to be honest. That’s one of the things they’d been working on in therapy. Honesty.

“‘I’m okay. I think Shitty understands. He just forgot that I don’t like to hang in the bar or at the winery. He’ll remember.”

Maman reached for his hand and squeezed it. “He loves you. When he does remember, he’ll berate himself.” She let go and spooned in another mouthful of ice cream. After she swallowed, she said, with more emotion than usual, “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

They walked home. The lake calmed with the rush of the evening. A few swallows swooped overhead, catching bugs, and the bats were beginning to stir, ready to take over when the swallows went to bed. Jack was sure he heard the call of an owl as they walked up the lane. In his heart, the promise of beauty, peace, and certainty of summer magic lay in the evening song of birds.

A cup of tea on the porch, a snack of apples and peanut butter, and they headed to bed. Jack would be up with the dawn for his morning run before the heat set in, and Maman would head to Fish Point to start her count of birds. She kissed his cheek and bade him goodnight.

Leaving the light off, he changed into PJs and crawled under the fresh sheets. He reached over and turned on the small table fan.

The thud of the waves crashing against the shore and the soft breeze from the fan on his face lulled him to sleep in no time.


End file.
